


The River Flows In You

by Moiranna



Series: 50 themes - Vergil & Dante [13]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Family, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiranna/pseuds/Moiranna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a quiet loss that strikes me every now and then. Dante reminisces about Vergil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The River Flows In You

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: #20 - Freedom
> 
> Originally posted on ff.net in 2014. Did some tweaking.

I miss you. Not in the sense of that I think of you during every waking moment, but it's a quiet loss that strikes every now and then, in the way I can watch a movie and hear your voice commenting on the poor choice in actors – can hear the exact tone that indicates that you’re sneering and somewhere underneath there lies a quiet despair in that nothing ever is worth your attention anymore. Everything is sub-par.

The sky showing a particular shade of blue that resembles that infernal coat you insisted on wearing. I wonder if you ever realized that red is way more awesome. Anyhow I should have pointed that out to you if only to watch you give me that 'I can't believe you're this stupid' look.  
Every now and then I think that I heard your footsteps outside my bedroom door, and I’ll never admit it to the others, but it stings when I realise that it’s not you.   
Once or twice I’ve recalled your smile. Swift as a bullet, rare as a master smith’s gun. Sharper than a knife and always followed by some snarky comment to cover up your temporary lapse in character. Because Lord help us all if the ice princess – sorry, I meant, ‘ice prince’, ever would show true mirth.

Stepping out of the shower and catching my reflection in the fogged up mirror, hair slicked back and squinting because for some reason I always manage to get soap in my eyes; then for a brief moment forgetting that it’s just me staring back at myself.

I was at the cemetery back in our hometown last week, went to visit mom. It irks me every time when I see that the only flowers there are the brown wilted ones I left some two-three months ago. Don’t even think that I never noticed that before Temen Ni Gru someone used to leave a white lily there at every birthday and death-day. 

Yes, I’m sentimental. You of all people should know that. You’ve accused me of it since we were five when our cat Mr Nibbles died and I mourned him for three weeks. Then on time and time again you’ve accused me for my human side, blaming me for what you think is my flawed side. 

Huh. It’s s trange how even now I have this conflicted relationship and deep regret about my mixed hate and love for my humanity. One would think that after twenty years I would have outgrown it, but no – no such thing in sight.

 

* * *

 

People say that there’s some sort of connection between identical twins. I wouldn’t know.  It’s not like I had something to compare with. You were always there, whether or not I wanted you here. And now you’ve been gone for two decades, and it still irks me every time I find myself cooped up in my office, caressing that old scar you left in my palm that night we went from enemies to strangers. 

I’ll never be free of you, whether I like it or not. It’s something I’ve accepted, though sometimes I wish I could just wipe you out of my memory. You’re a curse. A festering wound that will never heal - not until the day I die. In a sense of it I can’t ever be whole without you. That last piece of the puzzle is missing.

Then again, I could never be free with you there by my side – or well, as much as “by my side” we could ever be. We were polar opposites, and I’ve always thought that you needed to get that stick out of your ass, seeing as it was so deeply shoved into the wee crevices of your ass that you could probably taste it.

You were a bastard. Stubborn, annoying, a smart-ass that kept on going on my nerves. Brighter than a hundred-watt light bulb. Never ever had the sense to just leave me alone. Not that I always wanted you to. Just mostly. A shadow lurking somewhere in the background would have been idealistic. Someone I could pester every now and then, drop by with some pizza, beer and tomato-juice, making sure to spill juice all over those dusty old tomes you insisted on littering all over your study. Just because it would be nice to get some non-verbal comebacks that would cause you mental grief.   
And occasionally of course I could get some serious sparring going on. Demons never really offer that much of a challenge. They just move in predictable patterns and tend to die after three-four hits. You could go for hours on end, mocking me for sloppy mistakes before pinning me to the ground or just disarming me when you decided that you had enough of playing around. Not that I ever gave you an easy time. If nothing we’ve always been evenly matched, excelling at our own styles, which have led to that we had our strengths and weaknesses.   
  
But despite everything you were my brother. Whether or not I liked it. And there were many times that I would have loved to deny our siblinghood – or whatever to call it. But there are times I’d never have anyone but you by my side. The slaughter of the ones who killed mom – I would never have denied you your share when I managed to track them down after seven hellish long years of searching. I’ll never forget that night of rage, pure and utter destruction – and as I swore that day I’ll never tell anyone about how we fell asleep that night like we used to back when we were kids, holding on as if our lives depended on it. Then of course back to pretending as if nothing had happened the morning after.   
  
Shit. Here I am again, messing up my tempus forms. Even when just standing here watching the marble with your name on it though your body is dimensions away I can’t help but reminisce – and frankly it’s still difficult to speak about you in past tense. If killing you a third time would bring me peace I probably would. Or well… it depends. If you were still fucked up in the head and insisted on bringing hell back to earth I’d shoot you without blinking. But honest? I just want you back. Life is just… not the same anymore. I miss you. The picture just isn’t whole anymore. It’s just me left behind.

…

Fuck it. This was a bad idea. Forget I ever came here. Let’s just pretend this never happened. You go rot in hell for all I care. Goodbye brother.

 


End file.
